Badge of Impurity, Brand of a Hero
by misslaheela
Summary: Stefan knows about rejection, persecution, murder. He's seen it, he's felt it. He is a cursed creature everywhere he goes. When he discovers a hidden talent, he vows to avenge and to save as many of his fellow Branded as possible. He is hated by the world, but regarded as a hero among the ones that matter most to him.
1. Prologue - Cursed

There wasn't a tree in all of Tellius without a bird happily chirping away that fine summer morning. A symphony that would rival the very best musicians in the Mainal Cathedral commenced outside every window in Begnion. There seemed to be no reason other than the beauty of the weather, the rays of the sun splashing all over the land, the grass eagerly swaying with the breeze. One particular little bluebird plopped onto an open windowsill, singing from her heart into the brightened room. Such magnificence! Such glory! Such-

"Shut _up!_"

The bluebird cut her song short and bolted away at the sudden movement of the lump on the bed. Weary blue-green eyes stare at the window, blurring in and out of focus. That stupid bird. He'd been having such a nice dream too. He'd ridden off into the sunset on a palomino horse, having saved the town of Sestohl from bandits...

The seven-year-old boy tried to lay his head down on the pillow and fall back asleep, but the birds wouldn't quit their cacophony outside, so he reluctantly pulled himself out of bed. The wooden floor creaked as he made his way across the room to his dresser. Pulling on a normal loose shirt and some trousers that were slightly too small for him, he shuffled on over to the washroom.

On the doorway were some notches, indicating the little boy's ever-growing height. He hadn't been measured in quite some time and he was certainly taller than the last notch. His mother would be dismayed to see that she had to buy him new trousers again. Still, the boy felt excitement. He would be the tallest kid in the neighborhood at this rate!

After relieving himself, the boy climbed onto the stool by the wooden counter and dipped his hands in the clean bucket of water to wash them. Glancing into the polished brass over the counter, he noticed his green hair stuck in all sorts of unnatural positions. His father hated when his hair was unruly. Dunking his hands back into the water pail, he attempted to flatten his green locks as much as possible.

Then he noticed it.

It was hard to see clearly in the polished brass, but the boy could swear he had something on his forehead...

What could have smudged him in the night? He had taken a bath last night too! His mother would think he'd sneaked out to play in the garden, and he knew she wouldn't believe his pleas of innocence because he'd done that exact thing before. He rubbed his wet hands over the spot firmly. The smudge on his forehead remained. It almost looked a reddish color...

The boy moved his face up and down, hoping it was actually a smudge on the brass and not on him, but to no avail. Making one last effort to wipe off the smudge, the boy sadly accepted that he was going to get an undeserved scolding this morning.

He could smell the eggs being cooked in the kitchen, so the boy wandered out to greet his parents.

"You slept in late today, Stefan," the tall man sitting at the table said. He had much darker green hair than the young Stefan as well as a full beard. His hands were rough and leathery from his profession as a shoemaker.

"It's the end of the week, dear, he can sleep an hour late for one day," a shorter woman smirked, slipping the finished eggs onto a plate. Stefan's mother wasn't overweight by any means, but was mildly plump. Her face was almost too sweet to take seriously (although her voice could always make up for it if Stefan was in trouble). Her light-green hair hung in a simple ponytail down her back.

"The birds woke me up," Stefan grumbled, digging in immediately as his mother placed an egg on the plate in front of him.

"The birds have a better sense of time than you do," his father said. Stefan knew his father well enough to detect the smile in his voice. Still, as pleasant as his parents seemed this morning, he kept his head down, hoping they wouldn't notice the smudge on his forehead. He didn't know how it got there and he hadn't thought up a good story for it yet.

"Have you noticed yet, Gary? The asters are finally starting to bloom," Stefan's mother said cheerfully. "Oh, our garden will look absolutely stunning. I caught Fiora looking quite enviously at our blooming flowers yesterday."

Stefan's mother had been in an unspoken competition with the young wife next door, Fiora, ever since they'd moved in. Fiora was apparently a better baker than Stefan's mother, but killed anything she planted in the garden, so Stefan's mother had the upper hand there. Stefan didn't understand the whole competition, but his father never questioned it so he never did either.

"Oh, and I've planted so many of them that we might even be able to make a bit of extra money by selling them when they're full-grown!" Stefan's mother continued. "All those end-of-summer romances need flowers, of course, so-"

"Anadara," Stefan's father, Gary, said suddenly and sternly. Stefan glanced up at his father and swallowed. He had noticed the smudge.

His mother, Anadara, was confused at first, but then noticed where Gary was looking. Her eyes froze on the smudge on his forehead, just like Gary's. Stefan could feel his face turn red and the tears well up in his eyes.

"I didn't do anything!" he blurted out. "I just woke up this morning and I saw the smudge in the brass and I tried to wash it off, but it wouldn't come off!"

Neither of his parents said anything, but his father stood up and took two steps over to where Stefan was sitting. Stefan jumped. His father had never been quite so concerned about a smudge before – that was more his mother's pet peeve. Gently yet firmly, his father took his jaw with one hand and rubbed his thumb over the smudge with his other hand.

"Is...is it coming off, Gary?" Anadara asked quietly.

Gary paused for a moment, his face turning more and more grim, before replying, "No. It isn't."

Then, almost as if in a panic, Stefan's parents both ran around the house, pulling closed the shutters on the windows and dousing the house in darkness. Stefan felt a tear glide down his cheek. He was suddenly very fearful about what this smudge might be. What if it was a sign of a sickness? People got sick with something called a "plague" sometimes, and they didn't always come out alive.

Stefan's fear grew larger as his mother came back into the room, wiping away tears from her own eyes. He could hear her choked whispers to her husband, "On the _forehead_, Gary! The goddess saw fit to mark our baby boy on the _forehead_? How are we going to hide it?" Stefan couldn't hear his father's reply, but he knew that the smudge on his forehead was a very, very serious thing. He ran his fingers over it, but couldn't feel it apart from the rest of his skin.

Slowly Stefan's father walked toward him. His mother left the room, apparently unable to face her son at the moment with her frightened tears. Gary sat down in the chair next to his son, his eyes dry but nonetheless pained.

"What's wrong, papa?" Stefan asked, his lips trembling. "Am I g-gonna d-die?"

Gary placed a gentle hand on Stefan's shivering arm, instilling the reassuring touch of a father.

"I'm sorry we scared you, Stefan," he replied softly. "No, you're not sick, the mark isn't a sign of disease. But...it's time we told you what the mark really means, and I need you to listen carefully."

Stefan bit his lip and nodded, quickly wiping away the stray tears plunking down his cheeks.

"The mark on your forehead is called a brand," his father explained. "A long, long time ago, somewhere down our family line, a beorc married a laguz and had a child together."

"But...but I thought you couldn't do that," Stefan said quietly.

"People have done it before, and to be honest, Stefan, I don't know whether it's right or wrong," his father sighed. "But the point is, almost everyone in the world considers the child of that marriage to be cursed. And every child down the line after that bears a brand on their body, and that brand is a sign that they are one of the cursed."

"I'm cursed?" Stefan squeaked, tears welling up once more. "But I didn't do anything! I didn't even have the mark before today!"

"I know, Stefan...none of this is your fault," his father rubbed his arm. "The brand doesn't show up at birth, it appears on a person's body sometime later in life. Yours appeared today...on your forehead, of all places."

"But...where's your brand?" Stefan asked. "You don't have one on your forehead."

"I don't have one at all," his father said. "Your mother is the one descended from the line. Her brand is on her leg, much easier to hide than yours. And it needs to be hidden, Stefan." Gary leaned closer to Stefan's face and lowered his voice to a whisper. "The Branded are hated by society, Stefan. It's not your fault and it's not fair, but sadly that's the way it is. People are superstitious, they believe that the Branded are bloodthirsty monsters and that they bring a curse upon whichever town they dwell. It pains me to tell you this, Stefan, but it's necessary. If anyone knows you are Branded, you could be...you could be seriously hurt. You _cannot _let anyone know about this brand, Stefan. And I mean _anyone. _You must keep it hidden and you must talk about it to no one."

"I'm...I'm a monster?" Stefan whimpered.

"You are not a monster," his father said firmly, taking his son's head in his hands. "The beorc fear the Branded, and they will believe that about you, but you mustn't believe that about yourself. You are our son. You are a fine young man. You are a normal human being...except for that brand."

"I don't really bring a curse upon people, do I?" Stefan asked, feeling his world crumble more and more. "I don't...I don't have terrible powers, do I?"

"People believe a lot of things that aren't true, but the fact that they believe them makes them dangerous," his father said. "I...have heard of the Branded having an area in which they are supernaturally gifted, but it differs from each Branded. But that's only what I've heard. Your mother hasn't mentioned anything about it."

The room fell silent for several minutes, save the sniffles from Stefan. Just yesterday he was a regular human being with no abnormalities, and now today he's a cursed Branded monster! Would the villagers kill him if they discovered his brand? Would any of them listen to him and know that he's a good kid? His teacher at school always told him he was such a good kid!

"_Promise me _you will tell no one about your brand," his father broke the silence with a firm command.

"I promise," Stefan choked out, then asked, "How are we going to hide it? It's on my forehead, papa! Everyone can see it!"

His father paused, then left the dining area. Stefan immediately started bawling. He didn't want to be left alone, not right now. He was more scared than he'd ever been in his life. Thankfully, his father returned quickly with a bandana. It took a few minutes of reassurance to get Stefan to calm down and stop sobbing, but Stefan finally held still long enough for his father to tie the bandana tightly around his brand. He checked it to make sure it wouldn't slide up or down, then pulled his son into a hug.

"Your mother and I will protect you with all that we are," his father promised.

Stefan's little heart prayed and prayed that that would be enough.


	2. Chapter 1 - The Cool Kids

"Stefan, please don't lag behind."

The ten-year-old boy stared longingly at the blackberry pastries for another second or two before heeding his mother's instruction. He kept hoping each time they went out to the market that, if he stared long enough at something he wanted, his mother would break down and buy it for him. It very rarely, if ever, worked. His mother seemed intent on keeping their outings as short as possible, probably to sweep him back inside the house and get him away from all the potential people who could discover his brand.

Stefan's life had changed dramatically since the unholy red mark appeared on his forehead three years before. Back then, he could trot off to the local playground and run around for hours. His parents loved taking him places. They could host dinner and invite neighbors over. He could go outside and play in the front lawn any time he needed some fresh air.

Nowadays Stefan practically went stir crazy every day being cooped up in that house. His parents only let him out when they had to go somewhere, and he was never allowed to spend more than fifteen minutes talking to someone, let alone try to make friends. Stefan knew deep inside that they were doing all they could to protect him from being badly hurt or even killed, but he absolutely hated it nonetheless.

Their shopping day was almost done. He and his mother just had to pick up some eggs. They hustled over to the farmer selling some particularly beautiful ones.

"We've got white ones and brown ones today," the farmer smiled, pointing at the colorful assortment in the baskets. "Makes for a fun breakfast, eh, lad?"

Stefan blushed and didn't answer. He was always nervous to speak to other people around his parents.

"Bit shy, is he?" the farmer, still kindly, asked the boy's mother.

"Oh, yes, he's a quiet boy, but very good," Stefan's mother smiled, although Stefan could detect the tightness in her voice. "His father and I are very proud of him."

"As well you should be! He's a healthy boy, he is," the farmer exclaimed. "Bet he eats lots of eggs!"

The farmer and Stefan's mother continued in their casual banter; Stefan's attention was directed elsewhere. Just within earshot, a couple of larger women were holding tiny, fluffy dogs and talking to each other. The dogs originally caught Stefan's eye, but the women were talking loudly enough that he could listen in on their conversation.

"...in Khorga, you know that's not thirty miles from here!"

"Well, Addy, thirty miles is quite a long way off, I think we'll be just fine."

"All the same, I think our soldiers ought to be asking every stranger who wants to wander into this town where they're from. All we need is one Khorgan to get into Sestohl and our whole town will catch their plague too."

"No, Addy, I don't think it's a normal plague that's infecting and killing all those people in Khorga."

"What do you mean, Vivien?"

"Why, I think it's a curse! You know they sighted a Branded there just recently. They're trying not to spread that around, but I heard it from Gina and she's always been a reliable source of information."

"A curse! Well, if they find and kill the Branded, then the curse should stop, I suppose?"

"Yes, I'm quite certain of it. The only Khorgan we don't want in Sestohl is that filthy thing. I do hope they kill it soon, before it decides to wander out of Khorga."

Stefan, so immersed in the story, jumped nearly a mile high when his mother clapped her hand on his shoulder. Swerving around and looking at her face, Stefan could tell she had heard some of the gossips' conversation as well.

"Khorga's...cursed?" Stefan whispered.

"People spread around all kinds of stupid and false news, Stefan," his mother answered with a frown. "Khorga recently had several families from Fay Garrit emigrate and move in, and Fay Garrittens are notorious plague-carriers. The plague, of course, spread to the Khorgans. Khorgans fleeing to Sestohl and spreading the plague further is far more of a concern than a supposed Branded spreading a non-existent curse. Now come, it's time to go home."

Stefan wasn't sure if her answer was supposed to be more comforting or not, but he remained silent as he trotted home with her. His mother relaxed considerably as they closed the door behind them and organized the food in the kitchen. She even hummed to herself. Stefan thought it ironic that his mother was happiest when they were all safely behind closed doors and windows, while Stefan hated being unable to go outside when he wanted.

As his mother sang sweetly while she swept the floors, Stefan wandered over to the window on the side of the house. Quickly checking behind him to see that his mother wasn't watching, he creaked open the window shutters ever so slightly and peered into the sunlight. He could see the playground from this window, which made this his favorite window to secretly peek out of.

There, at the very top of the wooden structure in the middle of the playground, sat three young boys who looked to be around Stefan's age. They came to the playground often and they were clearly the "cool kids." Stefan could observe all the other children looking at this group of boys with awe and admiration, and sometimes the group would let the other kids play with them, but it was clear that no one else was allowed in their circle. Though the three boys had never even seen Stefan, Stefan admired them just as much as any of the other kids.

Loneliness and aggravation stirred up, churning faster and faster inside him as he continued to watch from the window. All of the kids at the playground – especially the three cool kids – were having so much fun. They ran around, enjoying the sunshine, enjoying the outdoors. But Stefan couldn't. He had to stay in this stupid house where it was always dark and there was no one to talk to except his parents.

Knowing he would just get angrier if he watched any more, Stefan stepped away from the window. He didn't know how long he'd been staring out it, but he realized it must have been a considerable length of time, as his mother was no longer sweeping. In fact, he couldn't hear her at all. Curiously, Stefan looked around the house for her. He finally found her in her bedroom, taking a deep nap on the bed.

A thought rushed into Stefan's head. _I can go play on the playground while she's asleep. I won't stay long, I'll be back before she wakes up._

_No! _another voice in his head protested. _You'll be unprotected out there, and even if nothing happened, your parents would kill you if you left without telling them._

The voices argued back and forth in his head, his conscience split as to what action to take. He hated the thought of frightening his parents, but the longing to get out of the house was so intense he thought he might burst. Finally his feet began quietly scampering towards the door. _There, I've made up my mind. There's no changing it now._

The freedom was scary and delicious as Stefan bounded away from the house, his heart pounding hard as he ran as fast as he could toward the playground. He reached it in no time at all, then paused. He almost expected everyone in the world to turn and stare at him like he was a freak of nature. But only some of the kids bothered to look at him at all, and then only for a couple of seconds before resuming their play.

Encouraged by his appearance of being a normal kid, Stefan decided the first thing he wanted to do was climb up all the platforms to the top of the wooden structure. He got about halfway up before a squeaky voice barked, "Hey! This is our private club!"

Stefan looked up and saw the three "cool kids" all staring down at him from the top. The one that spoke had a gawky body with bones jutting out awkwardly here and there, greasy blond hair, and very prominent front teeth. Beside him was a boy with a more stocky build, a bulbous nose, and close-cut hair a deep shade of purple. The third boy was clearly the leader of the pack – he was the same height as Stefan (a whole head taller than the other two), had a healthy build, and hair a darker shade of green than Stefan's.

Stefan was disappointed that the boys wouldn't let him climb up "their" structure, but he also wasn't keen on taking any crap from them. After all, he never got to play on the playground, so he should be allowed to go wherever he wanted when he did sneak out.

"I'll climb on whatever I want to, and if you don't like it, you can go take your club somewhere else," Stefan glared, continuing to climb up the structure until he perched upon the top with the other three boys. The smaller two gazed with shocked expressions at Stefan, then glanced at their leader.

"Who are you?" the green-haired boy asked.

"My mother always told me that if you want to know someone's name, you have to give yours first," Stefan countered.

The leader looked startled for a moment, but didn't seem to mind complying. Pointing first to the gawky boy, he answered, "That's Dagmar and this one here is William. I'm Homasa. Now you know our names. What's yours?"

"Stefan," Stefan replied.

"How old are you?" asked the stocky boy, William.

"Ten," Stefan eyed him cautiously, trying to think quickly as to whether he should be answering so many questions.

"William and I are ten too," Homasa said. "Dagmar's the baby."

"I'm not a baby! I'm going to be ten in three weeks!" Dagmar shouted, his buck teeth making him look hilarious in his anger.

"Hey, why are you wearing that bandana?" William threw another question at Stefan, interrupting Dagmar's fit. All three boys stared curiously at Stefan, who couldn't seem to find an answer at first. He couldn't believe he'd never thought of anyone asking this question before.

"It...I just...I wear it 'cause I like it," Stefan stammered.

"I wanna see it," William said, reaching forward towards Stefan's head. Stefan leaped backward, almost tumbling off the wooden structure.

"No! I mean...okay, I wear it because...because I have a scar...on my forehead," Stefan swallowed, trembling slightly as he talked. All three boys looked impressed at his excuse.

"How did you get it?" Homasa asked.

"Well, um..." Stefan paused, thinking as fast as he could. "Well, my papa is a shoemaker and he, um, he has this really, really big pair of scissors to cut the leather with." The boys nodded to encourage him to keep going. "And I was with him in the shop one day, working with him because, well, I'm...I'm good at it." Stefan hoped the boys would overlook his blatant lie. They seemed mesmerized. "And we were making these really fancy expensive shoes when...when this crazy guy came in!"

"Like a real loony?" Dagmar asked, his jaw dropping.

"Yeah, a real loony," Stefan nodded. "And he...he just grabbed the scissors from the table and he started slicing and stabbing me in the forehead. There was blood all over."

The three boys' eyes widened.

"So my papa beat up the loony and the loony got arrested and, um...that's how I got my scar," Stefan wrapped it up awkwardly.

"Can we see it?" Homasa asked excitedly.

"No!" Stefan yelped a little too quickly. "I mean...it's just...it's so ugly. It's the ugliest scar in the world. When the doctor saw it, he...he actually _died of shock. _They had to bring in another doctor and he almost fainted too. So I can't show it to anyone, because I don't want any more people to die of shock."

The three boys looked absolutely awed.

"You're telling the truth?" William asked breathlessly.

"Of course," Stefan lied.

Homasa glanced at his two buddies, then looked back at Stefan, entirely impressed.

"You're really cool," he said. "Do you...do you want to join our club?"

Now it was Stefan's turn to be impressed. He hadn't expected his wild story to turn into his admittance into the coolest club ever.

"Well, I guess so," Stefan said nonchalantly, trying to play it cool. All three boys looked delighted at his answer.

"Come on, Homasa! Let's show him our secret hideout!" Dagmar squeaked excitedly.

"It's not too far from here," Homasa agreed. "Come on, Stefan! You're one of us now."

As Stefan bounded off the structure behind them, he'd felt the happiest he'd been in three years.

_Author's note: In case you're wondering, yes, this is the same Homasa that appears in Path of Radiance. :)_


	3. Chapter 2 - Bones in the Night

"Why are we doing this, Homasa? My parents are going to kill me."

"If you're too scared, you can go home. No sense coming along if you're not brave enough."

Dagmar let out a grumble in the dark at Homasa's reply, but continued to follow along. William and Stefan kept close as well, silent but wondering what crazy scheme Homasa had planned this time. Stefan was used to sneaking out of the house to hang out with his friends (his mother had started a flower business and was gone most of the day along with his father), but never at midnight. Homasa had been building up to this event, and as the four thirteen-year-old boys carried their lanterns through the darkened forest, Stefan was certain Homasa had never felt fear in his life.

"This had better be good," William complained. "If you're making us do all this and it turns out you're going to show us something boring..."

"Listen, if all you're going to do is whine, you can just leave now," Homasa stopped abruptly. "I bet Stefan is brave enough to go all the way to the heart of the woods with me. Right, Stefan?"

"Of course," Stefan quickly agreed, although didn't appreciate being put on the spot.

"Besides, unless you find murder boring..." Homasa said, resuming his walk.

"Murder?!" Dagmar croaked.

"What are you talking about, Homasa?" William asked. Even Stefan was startled. Homasa hadn't told them anything about murder.

"Calm down, I didn't mean we were going to murder people, that's ridiculous," Homasa said quickly. "You'll see what I mean when we get there."

Every step seemed to feel more eerie than the last. What exactly did Homasa mean? Stefan made sure to keep Homasa well within the light of his lantern. Scaring each other was a somewhat normal occurrence among the group, and the last thing Stefan wanted was for Homasa to disappear and then pop out to scare them. Dagmar and William would probably both drop their lanterns and that left even less light for them to get back.

The forest was so black that they couldn't see their hands in front of their faces without the lanterns. Stefan stumbled on tree roots and felt branches scrape against his arms. This was almost getting ridiculous.

"I think we're here," Homasa said, slowing down and peering around with his lantern. "Yes! It's over here."

The three boys huddled even closer to Homasa, drawing a laugh from their leader.

"What is it? I don't see anything," Dagmar squeaked. "Just that little burrow over there."

"Exactly," Homasa grinned. "It's what's in the burrow that's interesting."

Homasa stood back, clearly indicating that his friends should be the ones to shine their lanterns into the burrow. Dagmar and William were clearly petrified and refused to move. Homasa glanced at Stefan expectantly. Not willing to admit his own fear and hesitation at looking into the burrow, Stefan inched forward and slowly shone his light over the hole.

It flashed over something white and covered in dirt. Stefan knelt down next to it, feeling William and Dagmar breathing closely behind him. His light beamed over the entire hole. Then he recognized what Homasa was referring to.

Bones.

Stefan's eyes widened, and William and Dagmar gasped.

"That's...that's a lot of bones," William stammered. "They're not...human bones, are they?"

"They're the bones of babies," Homasa whispered. "The burrow goes deeper than you see at first. And you know how they got there?"

Stefan heard Dagmar whimper. The bones were quite small. Stefan couldn't see them well enough to really determine if they were human bones, but William and Dagmar sounded utterly convinced.

"They're victims of long ago...of the Sestohl Slayer," Homasa's voice grew quieter and more ominous.

"The S-Sestohl Slayer?" William stuttered. "I've never heard of him."

"Everyone kept it covered up," Homasa said, unable to keep a smirk off his face. "They didn't want the surrounding villages to know that a mass murderer was on the loose, killing everyone's babies...They didn't want the surrounding villages to know that a crazed maniac had escaped from prison. Sestohl would become a ghost town if anyone knew."

"This...this is where he buried the babies?" Dagmar's voice couldn't have gone any higher.

Stefan shuddered. His ears naturally perked up for any kind of movement in the forest. This story wouldn't have been half as scary had Homasa chosen to show them the bones in daylight. Now that they couldn't see anything save what the lanterns revealed, it seemed entirely plausible that a crazed maniac could be lurking in these woods, ready to stab them all to death.

"He just threw all their mangled bodies in this hole, and no one found them until after they caught the Slayer," Homasa whispered eagerly. "He was smiling and laughing when he told them how he killed each baby and where he buried them. And then...before they could do anything to him...he showed them one more thing."

Everyone somehow wrenched their eyes away from the pile of bones and onto Homasa's face.

"He pulled up his sleeve...and showed them a brand," Homasa's eyes flashed with excitement. "Then he killed them all and escaped. He was never seen again."

"Homasa, that isn't funny!" William yelled, unable to hide his trembling. "I-I bet none of that's true! I bet you made it all up!"

"Did I?" Homasa answered with a smile. Stefan could hear Dagmar sniffling in fear.

Stefan himself didn't know what to think. What if there really _was _a Branded who delighted in killing babies? His father did mention that the Branded _could _be very powerful beings. Sometimes Stefan doubted that, seeing how ordinary and inept he and his mother were at most things, but there were certainly lots of stories about the powerful Branded. What did that say about him? Would he turn evil? Would he delight in killing babies? He tried his best to keep eye contact with Homasa, but couldn't. He prayed and prayed they wouldn't see through his disguise.

"So...so he would be dead by now, right?" William asked, obviously trying to calm himself. "That happened a long time ago, right?"

"No, you idiot!" Dagmar cried. "Don't you know anything? The Branded live almost as long as sub-humans live! He's probably still alive right now!"

This was something Stefan's parents had never told him. So his lifespan would be lengthened? His mother was a Branded too – how long would she live? Stefan suddenly wondered how much about the Branded he didn't know. It was a bit embarrassing that Dagmar would know more about the Branded when Stefan actually was one.

"Does he still live in Begnion? Does he still live in Sestohl?" William asked Homasa.

Homasa opened his mouth to answer when a nearby brush rustled and a twig loudly snapped.

Even Stefan yelped at this. William and Dagmar flat-out screamed, and before Homasa could say anything, the two of them took off running together in the direction they had come to get to this area. Homasa called after them, starting to run and stop them, but he tripped on a tree root and his lantern shattered on the ground. The flame flickered for a moment, then went out. Stefan, though every ounce of his being wanted to run away with Dagmar and William, knew he couldn't leave Homasa behind in the dark and knelt next to him, breathing hard and praying his heart out. Homasa screamed at Dagmar and William to stop, but their lanterns were soon lost in the darkness.

"I hope they don't get lost," Homasa grumbled. "Those oafs. Here, let me see that."

Stefan couldn't believe the lack of fear in Homasa's voice as he beckoned Stefan to give him the lantern. As Stefan handed it over, he asked, "What are you doing?"

"Checking out what made that noise," Homasa said, calmly walking over to the bush that had rustled. Stefan stayed close, as that was their only source of light now, and watched as Homasa looked all around. Stefan heard another rustle a bit further away, and Homasa immediately shone the lantern toward it. They saw something small scurry on the ground into the darkness of the woods.

"Just as I thought, it's only a stupid animal," Homasa shrugged. Then, turning to Stefan, he said, "Well, we might as well head back now, just in case Dagmar and William got themselves turned around."

The two boys walked together in the lantern's light, making their way out of the forest mostly in silence. Finally Stefan decided to take the risk and ask some questions.

"So...all those bones we found are the bones of human babies?"

"Oh, I doubt it," Homasa laughed. "They're probably just animal bones. I just made it up 'cause it was fun."

"So the Sestohl Slayer didn't really exist?" Stefan asked, relieved and annoyed at the same time.

"No, someone would've heard about him if he did, right?" Homasa said. "William and Dagmar are scared to death of the Branded, so I just threw that part in." Homasa paused, then glanced at Stefan and asked, "Are you scared of the Branded?"

Stefan had no idea how to answer this in a way that didn't make him sound suspicious. Trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, he shrugged and said, "No...not really."

"I'm not either," Homasa said casually, bringing more relief to Stefan than he could possibly express. "My pop says that all those stories about the Branded bringing curses on villages are just myths, and my pop's a pretty smart guy. The Branded probably aren't scary at all."

"So...you wouldn't be scared if you met a Branded?" Stefan asked slowly.

"Well, I mean, I've never met one, so I don't really know," Homasa replied. "I don't think they'd be scary. I actually really want to meet one someday, but my pop says that's stupid."

"Your pop doesn't think they bring curses, but he doesn't want you meeting a Branded?" Stefan asked.

"My pop's still suspicious of them," Homasa answered. "He thinks people exaggerate about them, but no one knows for sure, so he doesn't want me trying to find one, just in case everyone's right. I'm not scared, though."

For a moment, a single moment, Stefan considered what might happen if he revealed to Homasa he was actually Branded. It would lift such a load off his chest to let someone know about his secret, and he was certain now that Homasa would actually find his brand cool rather than revolting. In fact, just having a friend know and understand him would be the most amazing thing. Stefan opened his mouth...

...And then closed it when he remembered his promise to his father. _Don't tell anyone, ever. _Not even Homasa. What if Homasa let it slip? What if he reacted in a different way than Stefan thought?

"You okay?" Homasa asked, breaking Stefan out of his thoughts.

Stefan paused for a moment, then said, "Yeah, I'm okay. ...Hey, Homasa?"

"Yeah?"

"You're a pretty cool friend, you know."

He could see Homasa grin in the lantern light. "You too, Stefan."


	4. Chapter 3 - The Accident

"You left the house last night, didn't you?" Stefan's father asked wearily at the breakfast table the next morning. Even if Stefan lied and said he hadn't, his bleary eyes would have given him away.

"We're not going to do it again," Stefan said with a mouthful of grits. "We've never done anything at midnight before anyway, it was just a one-time thing. Homasa just wanted to show us something and the only time we could do it was then."

His mother remained silent. Stefan knew she was so angry that if she started talking at all, she'd probably end up screaming at him. He agreed that sneaking out in the middle of the night without his parents' knowledge wasn't the best of ideas and he understood their angry reactions, but the adventure was so tempting the night before that he didn't want to miss out.

"These are the same friends you've been hanging out with for the past three years? Nobody else?" his father asked, keeping his voice controlled.

"Yeah, it was just me, Homasa, William, and Dagmar," Stefan replied. "Same as it's always been. We don't hang out with anyone else."

"And they don't know anything about...?" his father lowered his voice a little.

"I promised you I wouldn't tell anyone and I never have," Stefan said. "They don't ask about my bandana because they know I don't want to talk about it and they respect that."

The room fell silent for a moment. Stefan was expecting some sort of heavy punishment for his actions last night, and he felt he deserved it. Nothing bad happened, but he realized the panic he no doubt put his parents through. His mother was hardly eating any of her breakfast and he knew she would spend the rest of the day with her eye firmly kept on him. Both she and his father were home from work that day.

"Stefan," his father looked at him suddenly. Stefan stopped eating and glanced up at him. He looked serious, but not terribly angry.

"If your mother and I gave you a time limit – say, two or three hours in the afternoon – that you could spend freely with your friends during the day, would that be enough to stop you from sneaking out of the house without our knowledge?" his father asked.

"Gary!" Stefan's mother shrieked, finally unable to keep silent. Her face was redder than a tomato as she glared at her husband. "Are you insane?! You're _encouraging _him to spend time around all sorts of people who...who..._you know he could get spotted at any time!_"

Stefan listened intently for his father's response. Permission to go out with his friends during the day was not what he was expecting, but his heart leaped with joy at the thought of it. Stefan's father looked patiently at his outraged wife and replied in a soft but determined voice.

"Anadara, it was all the restrictions that made him want to sneak out in the first place. He's a strong, independent young man, becomes more strong and independent every day. He's kept himself safe around his friends for the past three years. I would much rather he go out with them with our knowledge and awareness than have him going behind our backs."

At this, his father turned a very stern look at his son, indicating this would be the last time he would overlook such behavior. Stefan nodded.

His mother looked exasperated, opening her mouth several times with nothing coming out. Finally she turned to Stefan and shouted, "Do you know how much stress you've put on your father and I? How do you think we feel to wake up to use the toilet in the middle of the night and see your bed empty?! How do you think we feel knowing our own son, who doesn't seem to care about the danger he puts himself in, is constantly sneaking out of the house and-"

"Anadara," his father interrupted. "I trust he understands. We will give him a limit of three hours a day, four times a week, to go out with his friends. He will keep track of the time by listening to the monastery bells, they chime every hour. He will not be allowed to go out or to stay out past dark or before we wake up in the morning. I will trust his judgment on where he goes and who he goes out with...he surely has kept in mind that anyone else having knowledge of the brand can be fatal."

Then his father turned to Stefan and barked in a much louder, harsher voice, "There will be no more sneaking out of the house without our knowledge! If it happens again, you are under our supervision at all times, and that would be inconvenient for all of us. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Stefan replied humbly. He couldn't believe his sudden new privileges. There would be no need to sneak out now, he had permission during most days. Quickly, he added, "Thank you, papa." His father nodded, though still unsmiling. Stefan's mother, judging by her face, was clearly against the entire arrangement, but she said nothing.

The arrangement worked beautifully over the next few weeks. Stefan would let his parents know when he was going out (letting them know beforehand if he would be out while both of them were at work) and, true to his word, never sneaked out again. After no incidents, even his mother became more relaxed. Unbelievably, his parents even allowed him to invite his three friends over to the house for his fourteenth birthday. His parents weren't keen on having his friends over too often, but the day was special for Stefan.

One day, Stefan's parents were flirting with each other a lot more than usual, so Stefan decided to leave them to whatever they were keen on doing and went to knock on Homasa's door. It didn't take long to gather William and Dagmar, and the four of them headed to the playground. They still liked to hang out there, even though they were too old for most of the equipment.

"You know, you only became leader because you got to the top of the structure faster than me and William," Dagmar remarked after a while, smirking at Homasa.

"No surprises there," Homasa smiled back.

"Yeah, but Stefan never got a chance to race you to the top," Dagmar pointed out.

"There's tons of kids on it right now, Dag, we're not gonna push them all off to race to the top," Homasa tilted his head. "Besides, we're all nearly as tall as the structure anyway. Except you, Dagmar, you're still the baby."

"I'll be fourteen in another couple of months," Dagmar frowned, but quickly got back to his point. "Anyway, I bet if you and Stefan fought right now, Stefan would win."

"No way, man, Stefan's good, but I think Homasa's got the edge," William retorted. "No offense, Stefan."

"No offense taken," Stefan replied. "He probably would beat me."

"Oh, come on now, that's no way to talk," Homasa grinned, rolling up his sleeves. "You're a tough dude, just as tough as I am." He winked, and Stefan instinctively knew he was referring back to that night where they had both admitted to not being afraid of the Branded. "Come on, we'll have a small go-round. If you beat me, you can call the shots from here on out."

"You're betting a lot," Stefan smiled, rolling up his own sleeves. He felt nervous inside, but he didn't want to show it. He didn't want to be the wimp of the group and shy away from the fight, especially because William and Dagmar looked up to him as being pretty tough.

"You're gonna be a tough fight, but I think I can take you," Homasa said, getting loose. "We need to establish some rules though. No hair-grabbing, no biting, no aiming for the crotch."

"Or the face," Stefan said sternly. If he was going to fight, he wasn't going to deal with Homasa's hands near his bandana.

Homasa agreed on the rules and, after moving a fair distance away from the playground so they wouldn't inadvertently hurt a little kid, they began their spar. Stefan really wasn't half bad. He even caught Homasa by surprise a couple of times. It was fun though, more fun than Stefan originally expected. It wasn't long before they were surrounded by a crowd of other kids and teenagers. Homasa couldn't stop grinning at him as they sparred, and Stefan could hardly stop grinning back.

Eventually they got their way into a grab, where finally Homasa powered him down to the ground. There were cheers from the sidelines, with William nudging Dagmar in the ribs and saying, "I told you Homasa would win." Homasa's sweaty face beamed at Stefan as he hovered over him, pinning him to the ground. Stefan smiled back and said, "Well, looks like you were right."

"Yeah," Homasa panted, "And as the winner, I want to see something."

Time seemed to freeze as Stefan's heart nearly burst out of his chest. Homasa reached for the bandana on his head. He wanted to see the scar. Stefan could not feel more helpless and hopeless as his hands reached up too late to stop him. The cry of, "No, don't!" left his lips far too late. Homasa grabbed the bandana and jerked it up off his head.

Stefan stared in horror at Homasa's face, which turned from victorious to shocked in a second. Stefan couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't blink. His brain screamed at his hands to cover the fatal mark on his forehead, screamed and screamed and screamed, but his hands lay stiff near his face.

One agonizing second after Homasa realized what was really on Stefan's forehead, he clapped both his hands over it and looked around at the crowd, forcing a laugh.

"My goodness, he wasn't kidding about how ugly the scar was," he remarked. "Really nothing you should look at, it's-"

But a small child's voice rang through the air, sealing Stefan's fate: "_It's a brand! He's a Branded!"_

The air suddenly erupted with noise and chaos. Some of the crowd fled, others were frozen in their spots, and still others rushed toward Stefan to see if it was true. William and Dagmar were among the latter and they grabbed for Homasa's hands, trying to yank them away from Stefan's forehead. Stefan couldn't breathe past the fear collected in his throat. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't run, could he? It was all over now. He could hear several voices screaming now, "Branded! He's a Branded!"

Homasa tried with all his might to keep his hands over Stefan's forehead, but he was eventually dragged off. With Homasa struggling against the crowd, Stefan could only think to run. Somehow he managed to push his way through the kids and teenagers crowding around him, running with all his might towards home. He heard Dagmar shriek in horror, "It's true! Oh my goddess, we're going to be the next to die! We hung out with a Branded!"

Stefan threw open the front door with such force that it left a mark on the wooden wall behind it. His parents, in the sitting area, startled as they saw him. They didn't have to look two seconds to notice the bandana was off his forehead and his glaring red brand was exposed.

"It was an accident!" Stefan croaked.

Angry shouts could already be heard outside. Cries of, "Branded! Branded!" rang through the streets, alerting everyone. People were gathering faster than Stefan could have imagined. His father bolted behind him and slammed the door shut. Ten seconds later, there were furious fists banging on it.

"We need to leave! Now!" his father shouted, grabbing his wife and his son and charging toward the back door. The tears finally came streaming down Stefan's face. He'd heard all the conversations about what happened to the Branded when they were discovered. People killed them, at least in Begnion. That was what the townspeople wanted to do to him. Even Dagmar and William – it didn't matter that he was their friend for four years. He was a Branded, and the town would be cursed unless the Branded was killed.

Stefan tried to scream, but couldn't push anything past the lump in his throat. Their back door escape wouldn't work. People were already charging around the back as well. The angry shouts grew louder and louder. The mob was going to turn into a riot at any moment. Male and female voices screamed to "Give up the Branded!" and "Unless it dies, we all die!"

Stefan's father bolted the back door shut and hurried his wife and son into the windowless washroom, placing as much in front of the door as he possibly could. Stefan couldn't control his violent trembling as his sobbing mother wrapped her arms around him and lowered him into a corner. "I'm so sorry, mother," Stefan barely squeaked out.

"Don't say that, baby, don't say that," his mother whispered, her voice trembling.

A loud bang and the trembling of the floor indicated that one of the doors to the house had been beaten down. The riotous voices and shouts filled the house, coming closer to the washroom. No words could describe Stefan's terror as his father stood by the washroom door with a determined expression. His father would give his life protecting his Branded wife and son and Stefan knew it.

The fists began pounding on the washroom door. Stefan's mother screamed. Stefan closed his eyes. He couldn't look. He couldn't see.

A few more pounds and the door came down. The noise in the small washroom was deafening. Stefan dared to open his eyes. He saw his father fighting ferociously, fighting with all his power. Rioters fell down left and right, but there were too many for his father to hold out. Hands grabbed at his father's clothes and within seconds, he was pulled out of the washroom and lost in the crowd.

Stefan's mother was next. Violently she was torn away from her son. The rioters had no mercy; they beat her face until blood gushed out. As Stefan looked into the most hateful faces he had ever seen, he finally found his voice and screamed.

His vision obscured by tightly-packed bodies in the crowd, he could not see where he was being taken. His scalp throbbed as his captors dragged him by his hair. Eventually he looked up and could see the sky, so he knew he must be outside. He couldn't feel the air through the angry people closely surrounding him. He knew they could see his brand. They could see the proof.

People seemed to be fighting over who would get to bind his hands behind him. Finally someone used rough twine rope and tied his hands behind him so tightly that he began to lose feeling in them. Someone else shoved a wad of cloth into his mouth and continue to push it in until he choked. Before he could even think about his predicament, blows rained upon his face and his body. He could distinctly hear shouts of, "Kill it! Kill it!"

Everything seemed a blur. Stefan felt pain all over, but couldn't tell whether he was still being beaten. His head felt fuzzy. The voices finally blended together and he couldn't hear any one voice. He wondered where his parents were. He recalled his mother's sweet face, marred by blood.

Then it all went dark.

He felt himself moving, pushing through objects that he supposed still felt like people. Something seemed to be pulling him by his arm. Was this a normal way of getting to the afterlife? He still felt pain. Surely he wasn't dead yet. After some time, the voices seemed more and more distant. Was he fading away?

When the voices were so faint that he could almost not hear them at all, light suddenly appeared. Closing his eyes tightly, Stefan had to wait a few seconds before opening them and allowing them to adjust. When he could finally see, he noticed dark green hair slightly to his left, while a pair of hands quickly removed the ropes from his wrists. Excruciating pain flooded into his wrists and hands as the feeling returned to them. Stefan groaned. As he did, the same hands that unbound him pulled the cloth out of his mouth. He had forgotten it was there.

Then Stefan could clearly see Homasa's face, tear-streaked and full of the one emotion Stefan had never seen in him before: fear.

"You don't know how hard I prayed that that would work," Homasa croaked, failing to keep his voice steady. Stefan saw a dark coat flung over Homasa's shoulder and supposed that he had thrown it over Stefan's head in the crowd and somehow smuggled him out.

"I'm so sorry, Stefan, I didn't know," Homasa sobbed, and Stefan had never seen greater remorse in anyone's eyes. "I never should have touched the bandana. Stefan, I'm so sorry...this is all my fault..."

"I should have told you," Stefan's ragged voice said quietly. "I promised my father that I wouldn't tell anyone about my brand, but I should have told you."

Before Homasa could respond, the distant voices grew slightly louder. They sounded more raged than ever. Homasa glanced in the direction of the voices, then looked urgently back at Stefan.

"Run, Stefan," he whispered. "Get out of here and don't come back. Don't go to any of the nearby towns, they'll hear of what happened here in Sestohl and they'll be on the alert for you. Run as far as you can from here."

"What about you?" Stefan asked. "William and Dagmar know you tried to help me."

"I've talked to my pop, we're moving to Daein," Homasa answered. Stefan opened his mouth to respond, but Homasa shoved him toward the outskirts of town. "Go, Stefan! They're looking for you! Go!"

Immediately Stefan took off running. He ran and ran, only looking back once to see Homasa slump against a nearby wall, his face buried in his hands.


	5. Chapter 4 - The Innkeeper

_Run as far from here as you can._

Stefan had heeded Homasa's words. Staggering into Tealynne, a small city near the Gallian border, Stefan was certain he could go no farther. Eating whatever scraps of food (and, when he couldn't find food, grass and bugs) he could find, he had run for an entire week, barely stopping to rest. His body was now so weary that if he couldn't find a place to stay, he might just die of exhaustion.

Fortunately upon his travels (which were largely off the main road so as to avoid being seen), he came upon a sleeping hermit who happened to be wearing a bandana. Stefan didn't feel bad in the slightest about swiping it and covering up his brand once again.

The citizens of Tealynne gave him strange looks as he wandered in. Stefan was certain he looked absolutely awful and smelled even worse. He didn't care so much about that, though, as long as they didn't know he was Branded. Should he have another slip here, he was certain he would just submit to death.

He had been too tired and too focused on survival to think much about everything that had happened. Occasionally thoughts would flash into his mind, like "Did my parents make it out?" or "I wonder if Homasa has arrived to Daein yet." But that was as far as they would go before Stefan would renew his concentration on the present.

Feeling his knees about to give way at any moment, Stefan stumbled into the first inn he could find. The grizzled innkeeper glanced at him from behind his desk, looked him up and down, and mumbled something that sounded like, "The kinds of people I get in here." Then he straightened up and asked, "What can I do for you, young man?"

Stefan couldn't answer until he had firmly steadied himself on the desk. After taking a couple of big breaths, he choked out, "I need a room. A bed. Anything."

"Fifty gold and I can set you up," the innkeeper stated matter-of-factly.

"I have no money, sir," Stefan croaked, looking pleadingly into the innkeeper's eyes.

"Then I can't help you," the innkeeper frowned.

"Just for a night, sir," Stefan begged. "I'll do anything. I can't go any farther."

"Scram." The innkeeper's voice contained no mercy.

Slowly Stefan turned back around and headed for the door. He couldn't make it. His knees buckled and he slumped to the floor. If he weren't so exhausted, he would've felt more embarrassed. His arms trembled as he attempted to push himself back up, but his body was not cooperating. He heard a woman's voice to his left cry, "Oh, what is the _matter _with you! Can't you see that boy needs a bed? And food too!"

"You willing to pay for him?" the innkeeper growled, staying put behind his desk.

As Stefan continued to struggle, he heard the woman's feet stomp over towards the desk.

"I will have you know, sir, that I am the mayor's wife, and if you are going to sit there and watch that boy suffer right in front of you, I will raise such a ruckus in court that-"

"Alright! I'll get him into a bed. Yeesh."

"You do that. I'll get some soup for him from the kitchen, if you don't mind."

–

Stefan's sleep was so long and deep that he was disoriented when he woke up. He startled when he didn't recognize where he was, but all the pieces came floating back to him slowly. He'd collapsed at an inn and was carried into a room by the burly innkeeper, served some soup by a rather elegantly-dressed older lady, and promptly fell asleep.

He looked around at his room. It wasn't particularly fancy, but it was clean. His bed was soft and there were a few quaint chairs and tables placed around the room. Some polished brass hung on the wall. Stefan rubbed his head as he looked around, thankful for the mayor's wife to get him this room.

Then he noticed. His bandana was not on his forehead.

Panicked, he looked around, moving his pillows and his blanket around to see if it fell off while he slept. He couldn't find it anywhere. As he frantically searched under a table, the door opened. Stefan rapped his head on the table as he jumped, backing into a wall and glancing at the innkeeper in horror.

"Don't get all worked up, it's just me," the innkeeper growled, carrying a trunk with both his hands. He plopped it over on the side of the room; based on the sound of the thud it made on the floor, Stefan guessed that it must have been heavy. The innkeeper closed the door behind him and looked back at the shivering fourteen-year-old, still sitting on the floor.

"Your bandana was filthy, thought I'd wash it before you ruined my pillows," the innkeeper said, pulling a clean bandana out of his pocket and walking over to Stefan. Stefan wondered why a dirty pillow would matter when the rest of his dirty body soiled up the whole bed. He grabbed the bandana out of the innkeeper's hands and placed it over his brand, eying the innkeeper suspiciously.

"I suspect you're on the run," the innkeeper said, tapping his own forehead to indicate he definitely knew about Stefan's brand. "You don't have to tell me where you're from. I assume you probably didn't have time to get any money or clothes or anything."

"You don't care that I'm Branded?" Stefan asked, still uncertain.

"It don't matter to me, I'm not superstitious," the innkeeper finally gave a small smile. "Now here's the deal. I assumed you didn't have anywhere to go from here. Am I right?"

"Yes," Stefan answered.

"I also assumed you would appreciate some constant food, clothing, and shelter. Am I right?"

"Yes," Stefan replied again.

"That trunk over there is full of clothes for you," the innkeeper gestured. "Most of them are hand-me-downs from my own kid, but they'll fit you. Now the deal is, you can have those clothes and you can stay in this room as long as you need to. I'll even feed you. But you're not getting all this for free. I expect you to work and earn your keep around here. You help keep our guests happy, clean the rooms, man the front desk sometimes, and you can call this place home. Deal?"

Stefan didn't have to think about it for very long. He had nowhere else to go from here and he already knew he wouldn't find persecution from the innkeeper. He shuddered at the thought of having to sleep on dirt and eat bugs again.

"Deal," Stefan said.

"Good," the innkeeper grunted. "Go on down to the kitchen and get yourself a bite to eat. Then start mopping the kitchen floor. It needs it something fierce."

–

Two months passed. The innkeeper had not cheated his side of the deal and neither had Stefan. The room that Stefan had occupied that first night had been his room ever since and the innkeeper's wife didn't complain about making regular meals for him. He was even paid minimally. Stefan made sure to put as much effort into his work as possible. He satisfied the requests of the guests quickly and efficiently, and he made sure each room was spotless and tidy after each guest left.

The two months, however, had given him plenty of time to think over the path his life had taken. He still knew nothing about the fate of his parents and he wondered how Homasa was coping in Daein. Stefan missed the old days more than he could possibly say. He had been so stupid not to tell Homasa about his brand. If he had, none of this would have ever happened. Homasa would never have reached for the bandana if he knew what was behind it.

The anger and grief spiked inside him at random times, sometimes so forcefully that he had to stop what he was doing and take some deep breaths. Those madmen attacked his father and mother. They bloodied his mother's face and beat her when she didn't even attempt to fight back. They didn't stop to consider that this was the same quiet family they'd always been, that Stefan was always considered to be a good child in his school lessons. He was especially angry at William and Dagmar. They knew him for four years. They knew he was a friend, someone who would never dream of hurting them. They liked him. Then, after one showing of his brand, they were screaming, "Branded! Kill it!" like all the others. Bigoted, senseless fools.

Lost in his thoughts, Stefan hastily swept the kitchen floor. He heard a muffled conversation outside in the lobby, but paid no attention to it until he heard, "...heard, the trials are over in Sestohl. Guilty verdict."

Stefan immediately stopped sweeping and got as close to the doorway as he could without poking out of it and being seen. If this man was familiar with Sestohl, he might recognize Stefan.

"What happened in Sestohl?" a deeper voice asked.

"Brutal murders by a mob, one of the ugliest things I've seen in my time," the first man said disgustedly. "They arrested fourteen people for the deaths of the local shoemaker and his wife, but there were so many more involved that got away with it, it's just sickening. Gary and Anadara Louve were their names."

Stefan felt as though someone had stabbed him in the heart and twisted the knife.

"What's more," the first man continued, "The couple had a teenage son and nobody can find him. Judges think that the mob killed him too and hid his body somewhere and I'm inclined to agree."

"Why would this happen? I've never heard of Sestohl being a particularly dangerous place with mob activity," the deeper voice pondered.

"The leader of this whole thing was a guy named Wilbur Tragman," the first voice sneered. "Awful guy, always stirring up trouble. Always hated the shoemaker, but then again, he just about hated everybody. He and the other thirteen say they only attacked because they found out the shoemaker's kid was a Branded. But they've got no proof of that. Tragman probably just started shouting it and got everybody excited because they wouldn't help him kill the Louves otherwise. It's disturbing and disgusting, I tell you."

"You'd think that if they wanted an understandable motive for their actions, they'd tell the court where the boy's body is," the deeper-voiced man surmised.

"They just keep spewing this nonsense about 'they don't know where he is,'" the first man said with a huff. "They probably tore him to pieces and forgot where they put them all."

"The brand is passed down from generation to generation, though," said the second man. "If the court wanted to figure out if the child was Branded, wouldn't they check the parents? One or both of them have to have a brand too."

"Oh, I'm convinced there wasn't a speck of sub-human blood in that family," the first man retorted, "But even if there was, there's no way to tell. The idiots burned the bodies of the Louves so thoroughly that it's impossible to see a brand anywhere on them."

"Sickening," the second man grimaced. "Out of curiosity, though, what are the laws regarding murder of a Branded? Would it have made a difference if the family did turn out to be half-breeds?"

"There aren't any laws saying it's permissible to kill a Branded, but the government will always overlook when one is killed. They're filthy creatures, the Branded," the first man replied. "But I tell you, the Louves were pure through and through. They were murdered in cold blood. If the murderers get half of what they deserve in hell, I'll be satisfied."

Stefan couldn't listen to any more. Putting his broom back in the broom closet, he climbed in himself and finally permitted himself to cry for his parents.


	6. Chapter 5 - Promised Vengeance

"Sorry, kid. Blacksmithing just doesn't appear to be your thing. I feel like you'll chop off a finger if you keep trying."

Stefan wandered back to the inn, embarrassed and frustrated yet again. He was ill-suited for yet another trade. For the past two-and-a-half years, the sixteen-year-old had been trying his hand at different professions and trades, trying to find something he was good at, trying to find something he could earn a living doing. The more he tried, the more he was convinced that the Branded had absolutely no gifts or supernatural powers at anything.

He'd attempted cooking. That was a disaster. Half of his meat dish ended up undercooked and caused a couple of consumers to spend the night throwing up. He'd tried painting, but his hands never could create anything close to the image of beauty in his head. Most frustrating of all were his attempts at shoemaking. He thought for sure he should have some sort of advantage here – his father had taught him some things when he was younger – but apparently his father had never informed him how pathetic he was at it. Of course, he was young then, so maybe his father just hoped that Stefan would get better as he got older.

Stefan also tried something he told himself from the very start wouldn't work. After happening upon a book about the history of magic, he discovered that the mark of a Spirit Charmer – one who had invited spirits into the body in order to become more adept at magic – looked remarkably similar to a brand. Perhaps if he could learn some magic, hiding his brand wouldn't be so vital; he could simply say he was a Spirit Charmer.

An old sage had been giving magic lessons in a large empty field nearby. Stefan attended them every day for two weeks, studying tomes well into the night and muttering chants to himself as he worked at the inn. Nothing ever happened, though he'd hoped it was just because he was a beginner. But when two weeks passed and nearly everyone else in the class began to summon the elements while he couldn't even get his fingertips to spark, the instructor had taken him aside privately and sadly murmured, "I'm sorry, Stefan, but you just don't have a magical bone in your body."

So it was back to hiding his brand. Fortunately the one thing that had always driven Stefan's father nuts worked as Stefan's ally: his hair. Ever so stubborn, all Stefan needed to do was grow it long and make sure his bangs lay over the brand. It was so thick and heavy that not even the wind could sweep it off his face. He still wore his bandana most days, but he was getting more and more used to going without, especially with the remarkable job his hair was doing.

"Well?" the innkeeper asked as Stefan entered the building. "You getting the hang of things at the shop?"

Stefan grimaced. The innkeeper sighed.

"Well, I always thought blacksmithing was an awful profession anyway," he tried to shrug, but Stefan knew he was just trying to be polite.

"Do you need me to look at the budget and plan towards the room renovations?" Stefan asked, trying to keep the desperately hopeful edge out of his voice.

"Um...well, really, eh...the floors just need to be swept, why don't you get started on that?" the innkeeper mumbled.

Stefan turned to the broom closet quickly to hide the disappointment on his face. Business was another one of those things he had tried and even been trained for, but couldn't get the knack for. The innkeeper had attempted to teach him all he knew, putting him in charge of budgeting and directing the other two workers of the inn. Stefan learned very slowly and, just recently, he had made a mistake that lost the inn a considerable amount of money. He'd been so embarrassed and ashamed and, to make matters worse, the innkeeper hadn't given him any business decisions since.

Grabbing a broom and roughly sweeping the floor, Stefan wondered if this was what he would be doing for the rest of his life.

–

Three weeks passed and all Stefan had been given was grunt work. The innkeeper had been acting more and more awkwardly around him, which Stefan didn't take as good news. If it were possible, Stefan put even more effort into his grunt labor, hoping to redeem himself.

Everything fell apart one morning when the innkeeper knocked on his room's door and shut the door behind him as he entered. Stefan had just been getting ready to head out and start cleaning the other rooms.

"Feeling okay this morning, Stefan?" the innkeeper asked, his voice tinged with unease.

"Should I be feeling okay this morning?" Stefan asked hesitantly.

The innkeeper paused. Stefan took that as a no.

"I've really enjoyed having you around, Stefan, I don't want you to think that I haven't appreciated all your hard work," the innkeeper started, swallowing a couple of times as he spoke. "I don't regret taking you in. You're a good kid. Knowing that, I'm sure someone else...wouldn't mind..."

The innkeeper stammered, his face showing his clear discomfort for what he was about to tell his young worker. Stefan wished he would just get on with it. Dragging it on was only going to make it hurt worse.

"Look, Stefan, I know it's not easy," the innkeeper finally blurted out. "My son is done with his military service and he's, well...he's coming back to help me here at the inn. He's a natural at business, he could keep the budget at thirteen years old. I...I plan on giving the business to him when I'm too old to work anymore."

Stefan kept his face as emotionless as possible.

"I can't occupy more rooms at this inn than I need to," the innkeeper sighed. "That's why I don't let Timo and Yensen live here and they've worked here for years. If you weren't a special case, I wouldn't have let you occupy one of the rooms either. My son needs to live here if he's going to handle the business and take over for me, and if I let you keep this room, that will be one less room I can fill with a guest, less money to make..."

"I have to move out," Stefan said quietly. He knew the conversation was headed here from the start.

"You can still work here if you like," the innkeeper added quickly. "But...yes, I'm going to need you to vacate the room for my son."

"The wages I make here won't be enough for living expenses," Stefan said. "Timo and Yensen keep multiple jobs to pull it off."

The innkeeper gazed at Stefan, his eyes apologetic.

"I'll let you stay for one more week," he said softly. "And I'll give you some gold to help you start off on your own when the week is done."

Stefan swallowed, then kept his voice steady and optimistic as he said, "Thank you, sir. You never had any obligations towards me anyway. I'm grateful for what you have given me these last two years."

The innkeeper nodded, then slowly turned to leave the room. Before he closed the door behind him, he peered back in at the young man and said, "You'll find something. You'll find work you're good at, people willing to take you in. You're a good kid."

_Yeah, _Stefan thought as the door closed. _But evidently, being a good kid isn't good enough._

–

As much as Stefan tried to slow it down, tried to savor every moment, the week flew by at top speed. On his final evening, the innkeeper's son had already moved some of his things into the room. He was a nice man, the innkeeper's son, very polite as he shook Stefan's hand and wished him the best of luck.

Stefan didn't take a lot with him. He had no definite place of residence from here and he didn't want to be lugging around a whole trunk as he traveled. He packed enough garments and food that would fit into a decent-sized sack and left the rest.

The innkeeper had seen him off, even giving him a brief, awkward hug before he left. He also kept his promise to provide him with money – thirteen hundred gold. It was much more than Stefan expected and he was grateful. With a final goodbye, Stefan began his travels to who-knew-where.

Many different emotions battled within him. One side was logical, thankful. That night he collapsed at the inn, the innkeeper had really only promised to let him stay the night. Stefan would be expected to leave the following morning. Yet not only had the innkeeper allowed him to stay for two whole years, but he had even given him clothes, food, work, a small salary. He had gone out of his way to take care of the boy.

Yet anger and bitterness swirled in Stefan's stomach as well, more at himself than at the innkeeper. If he'd been good at something – _anything –_ he wouldn't be wandering around homeless now. Business didn't seem like it should be that hard, especially with all the hands-on training he received, but because he couldn't get the hang of it, someone else took his spot. If he'd found another profession that he turned out to be adept at, he would at least be earning just enough money to rent a place.

His pondering of emotion came to an abrupt halt when he heard a commotion on the road ahead of him. Stopping, Stefan wondered whether he should go forward or back away and choose a different path. The noise sounded a lot like a fight among several people. He didn't need to get involved in that, especially since he had chosen not to wear his bandana today. His bangs wouldn't cover much if his hair was grabbed.

Turning away, Stefan took a few steps before he heard a weakened cry from the direction of the fight, "Please! Mercy! I've never harmed anyone!" A gruff voice answered, "You cursed my mother! She's on her death bed even now. The curse on our town remains while you live!"

Stefan knew this kind of language. _The curse on our town remains while you live. _

Instinctively, Stefan turned back around and ran towards the fight. His brain screamed at him as his feet pounded on the dirt road, "What do you think you're doing? You're unarmed! And if you couldn't beat Homasa, you're absolutely no match against whoever's attacking that Branded. What are you going to do?"

_I don't know what I'm going to do, but I know I can't walk away from one of my kinsmen getting murdered._

The noise and rabble quieted down as Stefan approached. He wondered if he'd come too late. As he rounded a turn, Stefan saw a group of four burly men walking calmly away from a crumpled body dumped unceremoniously off the side of the road. Rage burned inside Stefan, and grew hotter when he realized how little he could do about the situation now. He couldn't run after the attackers – what would he do, yell at them? They'd kill him and throw his body next to the other one.

Trying to remain quiet, Stefan hurried to the body. Placing an arm under the battered man's back, Stefan propped him up to get a better look at him. His face almost couldn't be seen under all the blood. His left arm bent unnaturally. A bone in his leg was broken and poking out through the skin. Several ribs were clearly shattered. The man's breathing was shallow, ragged, and pain-filled.

_He's alive._

"M-mercy," he whispered hoarsely, his panicked eyes pleading into Stefan's. "P-please, I am innocent..."

Stefan looked at the man's neck and saw that the collar of his garment had been torn away, revealing the brand on the side of the man's throat.

"Don't fear me," Stefan murmured. Glancing to make sure the attackers were well out of sight, he lifted his bangs. The man's eyes drifted to the mark and then widened.

"You b-bear the mark," the man croaked, his voice growing weaker. "You are...family..."

"Is there a doctor around who will treat you? Anywhere?" Stefan asked, realizing the hopelessness of the request. Of course there wasn't. Any doctor would see the brand on the man's neck and throw him out to die behind the clinic.

"It's too late," the man breathed.

Stefan tried hard to control his breathing. He had to be calm for the man, had to be reassuring in his final moments. Inside he burned with fury. There was nothing he or his fellow Branded could do about their nature, yet humankind punished, abused, and persecuted them relentlessly and mercilessly. Stefan's parents had been murdered, Stefan himself had barely escaped with his life, and now he was watching another Branded die in his arms.

"My shop..." the Branded hoarsely whispered with the last of his strength. "In Veridia...r-right across from Samuel's Pub..."

"Sir, I..." Stefan started to say, then stopped himself. He wanted to inform the man that, whatever his shop involved, Stefan was almost certainly unable to take it over for him, but this was the man's dying request. He would at least listen to it.

"My treasure...I l-left her by the dining table upstairs." The man's eyes grew weaker. "Katti..."

"Katti? Who is she?" Stefan asked.

"Find her...take her..." the man breathed. "Vague...Katti..."

"Is...is Katti your daughter?" Stefan asked, panicking a little. Was Katti a person? Was she in dire need of help?

"Avenge me...with her..." the man choked out. "Free the Branded..."

"Sir! Who is Katti?" Stefan asked urgently.

But the man didn't answer. His body let out one final groan and breathed its last.


End file.
